In The Dark, In The Dew
by FangedCalliope
Summary: What if Spike survived the battle in the alley. What if Buffy found him. Will they be able to get past the new ways they've hurt each other to find the love that has always waited underneath?


Sigh. No they aren't mine. Joss Whedon's keeping them all to himself. The inserted text is the poem In the Dark, In the Dew by Mary Newmarch Prescott.

**In The Dark, In The Dew**

It was dark. But then again, it was always dark. He could usually pick up a hundred sounds in night's cloak, a hundred smells in it's make-up. Hear the stars sing, sense the pulse of the darkness, the tides being pulled by the moon.

Never again.

Shanshu.

He was human.

And in that there was an aching sense of loss.

The grass was wet with moisture and midnight dew, the air heavy with the damp night smell of the sea. It had only stopped raining a few hours ago, after nearly a week of weeping darkness and a dim clouded sky. It had still been falling when he awoke alone in the alley, afire with pain and shaking with damp and cold. Gasping air with lungs suddenly desperate with the need to function. It trickled in icy rivulets down his neck as he remembered how Illyria had exploded into blinding light; hurling all that was left of her ancient powers into a deadly blast that consumed her and the rest of the demon army. She went out with a shriek of defiance that sounded very much like Wesely's name. It had poured down unmercifully on Angel's ashes as he desperately scraped them from the grimy, blood soaked ground. It had beaded in pale droplets on Gunn's dark shaven head where he found his broken body after hours of struggling through the carnage with a weakness, that for a over a hundred years, had been unknown to him.

Spike looked down at his hands. Large square palms and thick inelegant fingers, crossed and criss- crossed with lines he had never seen before. These hands had held weapons and glided in ecstacy over skin as cold as his, and skin as hot as flame. They had been red with blood, they had snapped necks, and brought death. They had held fire and love. Spike knew his hands, hard, and pale, and callused. He didn't recognize these hands. Pink and soft, softened by humanity. He didn't know what to do with them now.

For over a week they had been filled with things to do. Recovering Wesely's body, finding Lorne, making the funeral arrangements. The blonde vampire stared ruefully at the waves beating against the rocks below. He remembered the plain stone urns lined up in a row. The cool raspy feeling of the stone as traced the names with his fingers for a last time. Angel, Gunn, Wesely, Fred, Cordelia. A vampire, three humans, and some sort of higher being. In the end they were all the same, all ashes, dust.

_Kings and chimney sweepers must, all follow this and come to dust._

The quote ran unbidden through his mind. Spike snorted softly.

_Shakespeare. Bloody William's really makin a go for it now. Good thing I wasn't around for the eulogy._

Spike hadn't gone to the funeral. He had made the arrangements, given Lorne a list of who to call, he had sat with his friends remains through the cold silent night. Then he had run like hell before the other mourners could arrive. It was only a day or so after the service. He had been sitting in an abandoned warehouse cursing the sound of his heartbeat that made it too loud for him to sleep and trying to keep down any food. It tasted incredible, but far too bloody intense for taste buds that hadn't been utilized in over a century. He had been looking out the window at the now drizzling sky, when it had occurred to him that perhaps Angel would have wanted to see the sunlight, if he'd had the chance and means to enjoy it.

So here he was, standing on a hill above the sea, waiting to see his first sunrise like a magnificent poof.

_Bloody fucking great._

He was human now, and weak. No heightened senses or supernatural abilities. So it came as some surprise to him when he sensed her. When his heart gave a lurch in his chest and his pulse suddenly barreled out of the starting gate. Even though he hadn't heard, or seen, or smelled her approach. A voice given to rapping out his name like a shot fell softly on his ears and invaded his being.

"Spike?"

In the dark, in the dew,

I am smiling back at you;

But you cannot see the smile,

And you're thinking all the while

How I turn my face from you,

In the dark, in the dew.

He looked different, Buffy realized, through the dizziness in her head and her pulse in her ears. His back was to her, his lean frame resting against the wooden gaurdrial, his silhouette framed dramatically against the dark sky. His hair was unbleached, it was hard to see in darkness but it looked to be blonde, just a shade darker than hers. It pained her to realize that she had never asked him it's real color, not that he would have told her. He wore no duster, just a plain black coat and his dark jeans, like any ordinary guy. But she could tell in the cocky stance of the legs, the shoulders, stooped slightly, the line of the neck tensing as he registered her presence. It all screamed Spike. That, and the way her heart was battering in her chest, feeding the tingles that had started racing up and down her spine the moment he had come into view. She stared at his back, the flurry of emotions in her chest making her both hot and cold.

_Stupid vampire. If it wasn't for that awful funeral director I would never even have known._

"Excuse me, are you miss Summers?" Buffy had been surprised when she was approached by the fussy little man in the dark suit, where she stood to the side in the dim funeral home, watching the Scoobies mingle with the small group of mourners who had gathered. "You'll need to sign for these."

"I'm sorry?"she asked stupidly, voice raspy from grief.

"The Urns miss. They are to be delivered into your custody."

Buffy gazed at him warily through tear blurred eyes. The little man huffed slightly, "I was told that you were the person to distribute them. Mr. Wyndham Price is to go to England, Mr. Charles Gunn's to the local cemetery with his family, Ms. Burkle's to be sent south to this address, Ms. Chase's to the address marked below. Mr. Liam O'Brian's are to be given into your custody, with a portion and small jar going to a certain, Connor Smith. If you'll just sign here."

Blinking, Buffy did as she was told. "How much do I owe you?"

"It has already been taken care of ma'm, by the person who made the arrangements." He turned to go, then said as an afterthought. "I am very sorry for your loss."

Who, made the arrangements?" Buffy had asked, thinking she would need to thank the strange green skinned demon who had sung a lovely rendition of Mandy.

"A ceratin William Aurelias, ma'm. I must say that I'm surprised he wasn't here, he was quite specific in his instructions."

Buffy's eyes had gone wide. Surprising the small throng mourners she had grabbed a suddenly panicked green demon and hauled him off to into a small side room used for viewing coffins, locking the door behind them. When Lorne had emerged sometime later, looking tired and somewhat wild around the eyes, he had informed the now doubly distraught Scoobies just why Buffy had gone running off into the night.

And now, here he was. The Slayer closed her eyes. When she had received the news about Angel she had collapsed into a wailing ball of grief and guilt for several days. Then she had straightened, and softened, and accepted the sense of loss with a feeling of peace that would always ache. Eased slightly by a sense of pride in what he had accomplished. This, however, was something she had no way of handling. Of all the emotions warring within her: rage, sorrow, guilt, confusion. That Spike was alive, had been alive for nearly a year, and had never told her. All that she could feel now, looking at his motionless form, was pure joy. Unbidden she felt a smile spring to her lips.

"Spike." She repeated again. Slowly approaching his tense form.

_Don't turn around. Don't turn around._

Spike gritted his teeth, chanting the mantra over and over in his head. If he looked at her he'd be lost, and he couldn't handle that right now. He stuffed his hands inside his pockets, afraid that they would move of their own volition to touch her. Familiar panick was beginning to course through his system, he had to get her to go away. This meeting had to be done when he was at his strongest, at his best. Not when he was lost and tired and raw. Maybe not ever. Definitely not now.

"What are you doing here Slayer?"

Buffy winced. Slayer. That wasn't a good start. "I came for the funeral."

Spike sighed, clenching his fists in his pockets to try and still his jumping nerves. "Well yeah, I kinda figured that, I meant what are you doing here on this cliff."

Buffy, stopped her progress towards him, crossing her arms over her stomach. How often had she dreamed of his voice, the raspy edge and cool nuances, the way it always seemed to caress her when he spoke. But now it was clipped and cold. This wasn't how things were supposed to be going, his tone was making her afraid, and that made her irritable. "I might ask you the same thing."

The blonde man rolled his eyes. "Well, to keep up with this lovely tradition of school yard, I asked you first."

The small blonde looked at the ground. "Angel liked it here." She said quietly. "Lorne told me."

Grief made his throat feel tight. "Yeah."

"Well you're awfully talkative."

"S'there something in particular I'm supposed to say?"

"How about, hi Buffy." Or, nice to see you. Or maybe why you never called."

"Been a bit busy."

"Busy?" Buffy repeated incredulously, "With what?"

Amidst the intense feelings of love and confusion warring in Spike was a mounting case of extreme irritation. He hadn't sought her out, he had come here for Angel. To make peace, to say goodbye. Not to have a heart to heart, or rather stake through heart, with this pint sized terror who asked all the questions he didn't know the answer to.

"With things that did not concern the great Buffy Summers. If she can believe that such things might exist."

"Hey. Why are you being such a jerk?" If he'd been facing her he would have seen her lower lip beginning to tremble.

"How's the Immortal then?" Spike asked casually, "did your new Boytoy enjoy the funeral? Did you bring him along to gloat?"

He heard her gasp of fury. "How dare you. How dare you say that to me. How dare you make light of Angel's death, you didn't even care about him, just because you're jealous—"

"SHUT YOUR BLOODY MOUTH SUMMERS!" Spike wheeled around on her in fury, then quickly turned back again. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut. By god, she was still so bloody beautiful. Even as angry as he was it wasn't safe to look at her. "HE WAS MY FAMILY! Don't you dare say I didn't care about him. YOU abandoned him! You have no idea what our ties were, you'd never understand. I just lost everyone I've grown to care for in the past month. I'm not in the mood for cold comfort or to play games. I didn't ask for you to come find me. It's OURS, this sunrise! You don't belong here. Just go home!" Angrily Spike dashed his hand over his eyes, flinging away the salty moisture that now trailed down his cheeks. For a moment there was silence and his traitorous heart clenched at the thought that she might actually have gone. Then he heard a small sob, and his heart clenched again, he wasn't sure which was worse.

Buffy drew in a ragged breath as she stared at the vampire's back, so rigid with fury. As was the usual in her encounters with Spike she found herself suddenly shamed. She had wanted so badly to see him, she hadn't thought about what would happen next. She had burst upon him in a very private moment, then been hurt when he didn't welcome her with open arms. As usual she hadn't thought about any of that, hadn't thought about him.

In the dark, in the dew,

All my love goes out to you,

Flutters like a bird in pain,

Dies and comes to life again;

And you whisper, "Sweetest, hark;

Someone's sighing in the dark,

In the dark, in the dew!"

"I'm sorry." She said quietly. "I'm sorry so. I didn't mean to abandon Angel, it will always haunt me. I felt betrayed, I didn't understand, and--"

Spike's back softened as realization of at least one piece of the puzzle dawned on him. "You had to protect your girls."

Buffy nodded silently. "Yes. I did. But I had no right to come here and, disrupt your life." She turned to go, then let out a near hysterical chuckle. "Oh god, you're alive. Why are we fighting? Spike there's so much, so much I want to–"

A tiny shudder of joy went down Spike's spine but he quickly shook it off. "It's too much for me right now luv." He flinched as the endearment slipped unbidden past his lips.

The Slayer swallowed her disappointment. "Oh, okay. But will-- Can I see you sometime?"

Spike nodded. "Maybe someday."

An iron lump thudded into Buffy's chest, she felt her fingers dig bruisingly into her own arms. "Someday?"

Spike sighed, the effort of not going to her was starting to make his head hurt. "What do you want me to say, pet?" Damn, there was another one.

"When I can see you, when we can talk."

"Why the Immortal Buffy?" Oh buggering fuck! That wasn't what he had meant to say, he was sweating now. Damn and double damn these human attributes.

Buffy wished she could just brush off the question, say she didn't want to talk about it. But things were different now. They had both grown up, and she couldn't just have her way. She had to try too.

"I–" She began, "after everything. I grieved, and then I let you go, like I was supposed to. So everyone was relieved. And I was busy, getting used to life, to a new place, to not having all the pressure on me anymore." Here she stopped and Spike heard what might have been a sob choke her voice. He almost turned around. Almost, but not quite, he had to hear this out.

"But-" Another painful gulp of sound and she continued. "I couldn't sleep at night. It wasn't just the fact that you weren't there to smile or snark or make me furious. I could never sleep, the space around me was just so empty. I'd dream about you every night. You'd be smiling and then you'd be dying and I'd wake up all alone. The days were fine, there were things to do, and sunshine, and a new city to explore. But at night..... I wasn't ready for you not to be there. He-- he helped me. He filled the space, he held me after the nightmares. And," She blushed looking at her feet. "we had fun. Dates, and dancing, and movies. I hadn't just had fun in a long time." She closed her eyes again, willing him to understand. "I didn't know he was your enemy, and I didn't love him. I know it sounds strange, but he helped me be normal, I don't remember how to do that anymore." She paused for a moment while she watched Spike silently absorb her words. "Why didn't you call me?"

He swallowed hard, trying to sort through all of the emotions her speech had sent clamoring within him."I was afraid." Spike closed his eyes. _So afraid, so afraid. Can't you understand that?_ "And then, I had things to do, a mission. A chance at being a real Champion."

"You couldn't do that with me?"

"I had to do it for me Buffy."

Understanding surfaced, understanding and, pride. Pride in him. "I get that. I understand. But I still wish you'd called."

_If I'd heard your voice nothing could have kept me from you._

"You'd best be going now luv. I'm sure the Scoobies are worried."

The Slayer opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. No more demands. She would play it his way this time. "So, when will I see you again?"

"Buffy–" Fear took hold of him again. "Too much has happened."

"Don't say that."she pleaded, desperate again in an instant.

His clenched fists were beginning to protest, "All there is to say."

"Why won't you look at me!?"

"Because if I do Buffy, God help me! I won't be able to help myself!"

There was another long silence while Buffy's heart leaped into her throat. She knew it was selfish, she knew she shouldn't ask it of him, but she couldn't just walk away without seeing his face. "Spike, please look at me."

Slowly as if turning to meet his doom, he faced her. His eyes started at her boots, up her denim clad legs, over dark suede coat, before finally resting on her face, where they stayed. Her cheeks were pinked from emotion and cold, her lips moist from tears. Her blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders tendrils framing her flawless face, stirred by the breeze off the sea. And her eyes, pools of hazel green quicksand, shimmering with tears. They were hungrily devouring his face, taking in the familiar soft lips, the sharp angular features, the new way his hair fell into his eyes. His eyes, blue eternity. The two stood, silently staring at each other, more emotion conveyed in that gaze than could ever be spoken in words.

"So," she finally said, mentally kicking herself for speaking. "Where will you go?"

_Please don't go. Please don't go._

Spike swallowed, unable to take his eyes from hers. "Don't know really. They were my friends, he was my family. I don't have a home now."

"Yes you do." It was probably to soon to say it, but Buffy couldn't help herself. This time it was her laying herself bare. It was awkward and terrible and she would never stop wondering how he used to do it so easily. She took a deep shuddering breath, letting the rest come out in a rush before fear paralyzed her for good. "Or you could have. You do. I-I know I messed up. And that there's still a lot to work through and say. But, I think we could try. I want to try. What I'm saying is, there's a home for you, with Dawn and me." She looked down, biting her lip. "If you still want it."

_If you still want me._

The sub-text hung heavily in air. Spike swallowed, did he still want her? Her stubbornness, her temper, her denials and horrible puns, her infuriatingly complicated wonderful being?

_Hell yes._

Keeping his eyes locked with hers he gave a wordless he nod. Relief rushed through Buffy's body in a wave, making her knees tremble and threaten to give out. Tentatively she reached out her hand and when he didn't pull away, she let it settle onto the sharp edge of his cheek. Feeling his skin warm beneath her palm, her heart skipped a beat when Spike closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.

They both moved to embrace each other at the same moment slowly and awkwardly. Arms tangling and getting in the way, re-arranging with almost comical concentration, until her arms slid under his and she rested her palms on his back. While his closed around her small frame, holding her loosely to his body in a chaste hug. Relief crashed through both of them at the conatct, sudden and dizzying. Spike's arms tightened around her convulsively, and Buffy clung to him just as fiercely, both trembling as they let their tears mingle in a healing dew. When the tears were spent she let her cheek rest against his firm chest, his own resting on her dampened golden hair.

"I missed you." The Slayer whispered, secure once more in his arms.

That's when she heard it, his heartbeat, dancing against her ear, and she laughed

They found a bench, and talked away the rest of the night. About Angel, about Fred, and Wesely, and Gunn. And later, after more tears had been shed, about Dawn, and Rome, and the rest of the Scoobies. Then they sat, with Buffy wrapped under Spike's arm, and watched in silence as the sun rose over the ocean. Setting the wet grass beneath their feet into a sparkling blaze of rainbow jewels. Gilding the restless waves in brilliant hues of peach and golden rose. Buffy turned to look at Spike's face. His hair was lit in a nimbus of light, the morning sun casting shadows in his cheeks and lighting his eyes to a brilliant blue. His lips were parted in wonder, he probably wasn't even aware that his fingers were idly stroking her hair. Buffy felt a fluttering in her chest, light and stirring as a bird's first flight.

"I love you." She said, simply. Gazing with wonder at the ex-vampire's face.

Spike inhaled sharply. So many layers behind those three words: friendship, respect, gratitude, compassion, maybe even true love. For the first time, he didn't allow himself to panic as to their possible level of meaning. They had time to find out. So he smiled, and tangled her small fingers with his own, keeping his eyes on the horizon and the brilliant day.

"I love you too."

In the dark, in the dew,

All my heart cries out to you,

As I cast it at your feet,

Sweet indeed, but not too sweet;

Wondering will you hear it beat,

Beat for you and bleed for you,

In the dark, in the dew.

The End

I eagerly welcome all critiques and comments.


End file.
